Edward wrapped up his lengthy mea culpa. He could hear the old man breathing through the screen. Inches away. But no reply. “Well, can you forgive me?”
Finally, a response. “I don’t know.”
Edward knew his rights. “As a priest, you’re required. I just confessed.”
“My son, I can’t offer absolution if I don’t believe you sincere.”
“I am. I swear it. Before God.”
The priest was resolute. “I’m sorry. The answer’s no. Maybe I’m biased. After all of your lies. Can you forgive me?”
What a nasty little trap this story sets, Scott! How beautifully it springs! You strip all the power of the confession booth all away in one sentence: maybe I’m biased. One hundred words, and not one wasted! Brilliant!
Yours is a beauty, Caro … excellent twist. I used the prompt to do a 6-word, 50 and a 100-worder. I’ll be posting it on Friday (to tie in with my ‘month of new fiction’ schedule) but I’ll pop the 100 below. Thanks for the excellent prompt.
I’ve just been drafting them into the post with this week’s collection. It’s funny setting a ‘30 stories in 30 days’ goal … inevitably there are days when the words don’t appear. I have had to acknowledge that this week and so there will be fewer than I hoped … BUT, I’m hoping the quality exceeds the quantity.
The girl looked the same. Older, of course, aren’t we all? She exuded the same playground over-confidence, a brittle facade, fidgety over-exuberance masking an inner silence of nerves. Today, though, there was no crowd to play to, no vacuous hangers-on to laugh along at her cruel barbs. Most importantly, no soft target.
Maybe she should have stopped this process earlier, unforgivable really. It was behind her, she’d thought. She’d fashioned this business, created a family more than a team.
But sometimes your past needed to be faced, acknowledged but never forgotten.
Oh boy, Barrie! The title of your story really says it: simple recognition, but also a verdict. That final line refuses to tell you what she decides, which is exactly right, as the story was never about the job. Nicely done!
The forgiven walk proudly among the unforgiven who know their secret. The unforgiven outnumber the forgiven, but that is an illusion, for the unforgiven know the secret of the forgiven and, thus, also outnumber the forgiven in other ways. What crime is it about which the unforgiven know, which keeps them from joining the ranks of the forgiven? What could be so terrible and horrific?
The secret the unforgiven know is that the forgiven don't think their secret is so terrible or horrific. The forgiven never do. And that is why the forgiven found it so easy to self-forgive themselves.
This is a brilliant piece, Gerard! The story’s real cruelty is in where it places us (the reader). By the end, we’ve been enrolled in the unforgiven without being asked! Darn!
He looked solemnly, pondered. A thousand excuses rushed to his mind. A million ways to clear his mind of concern.
Not his fault. These things happen. If she would just learn to understand his moods it could all work out. No one is perfect, and he never said he was. She was lucky to have him, he would tell her, and she would believe him. Desperate need clouds a person’s judgment.
He’s done this before. She’d forgiven him before. Over and over. Many times. It becomes like a bad habit that can’t be stopped. But this time, she lay dead.
Wow! Just devastating! Rad, you made us sit inside that voice for most of the story, then you yank the floor out! The real bad habit was never his violence; it was her forgiveness. My, oh my!
Harsh realities were rising to the challenge. Each step brought new thoughts, new wisdoms raising both relics and impositions onto a weary soul. Josh paused to wipe the glistening heat from his furrowed brow. He stared off into the distance that lay unforgiven.
“Curious,” his mind spoke, creating the difference between his reality and the developing storm. “There are some things I can control.” His eyes searched vehemently for answers to this new oasis ceasing all movement except for those necessary to bring understanding and possibly a desired outcome.
He resumed typing. “The sound of silence awaited his endless walk.”
Good one, Bill! And you saved it for the last sentence! Discovering that Josh is writing the same kind of story he’s living through is clever. It’s a compact, almost cruel little mirror.
Worse than the phony smile masking my self-loathing is the pizza and margarita inhaled with my forever bestie. She’s a confident size 6 in a thong bikini; I’m wrapping the hips you gave me in a shawl meant for shoulders.
Why am I obligated to honor your sin? You did this effortlessly. Why didn’t you ask God for better? I never asked to be full-figured.
My hips lie. They call me "bootylicious," but reality is darker. I’m the image of a woman I never met, whose hips bought her crack just to give me hopes, dreams, and hips.
Oof! Well done, Jadu! You disguised the story as self-deprecating humor and then hit us with “whose hips bought her crack.” That reversal of the Shakira line (Shakira! Shakira!) whose “hips don't lie,” is savage. The turn from a celebration of curves to the anger and grief of being trapped with a body nobody asked for makes your story linger.
Unforgiven (100 words)
Edward wrapped up his lengthy mea culpa. He could hear the old man breathing through the screen. Inches away. But no reply. “Well, can you forgive me?”
Finally, a response. “I don’t know.”
Edward knew his rights. “As a priest, you’re required. I just confessed.”
“My son, I can’t offer absolution if I don’t believe you sincere.”
“I am. I swear it. Before God.”
The priest was resolute. “I’m sorry. The answer’s no. Maybe I’m biased. After all of your lies. Can you forgive me?”
Edward considered, honestly. “I don’t know.”
He had not said no. That was a start.
There’s a lot of depth crammed into the word count, Scott. Excellent.
I agree.
💛✍️💛
Thank you! Always look forward to what this crew comes up with.
Thank you Barrie, so glad to see you are sharing more of your own great stuff!
That’s kind, Scott. After a fallow spell, I’m harvesting a bushel or two of words.
Keep ‘em coming!
I’m on it!
What a nasty little trap this story sets, Scott! How beautifully it springs! You strip all the power of the confession booth all away in one sentence: maybe I’m biased. One hundred words, and not one wasted! Brilliant!
Thanks, Caro, I love this series thank you for conceiving and running it!
Yours is a beauty, Caro … excellent twist. I used the prompt to do a 6-word, 50 and a 100-worder. I’ll be posting it on Friday (to tie in with my ‘month of new fiction’ schedule) but I’ll pop the 100 below. Thanks for the excellent prompt.
Thank you, Barrie and you're welcome! Looking forward to the others on Friday.
I’ve just been drafting them into the post with this week’s collection. It’s funny setting a ‘30 stories in 30 days’ goal … inevitably there are days when the words don’t appear. I have had to acknowledge that this week and so there will be fewer than I hoped … BUT, I’m hoping the quality exceeds the quantity.
Ha we had the same thought, you did it better!
Haha, yes, but I wouldn't say I did it better. I love yours!
REMEMBERED (100 words)
“Why did you decide to apply for this role?”
The girl looked the same. Older, of course, aren’t we all? She exuded the same playground over-confidence, a brittle facade, fidgety over-exuberance masking an inner silence of nerves. Today, though, there was no crowd to play to, no vacuous hangers-on to laugh along at her cruel barbs. Most importantly, no soft target.
Maybe she should have stopped this process earlier, unforgivable really. It was behind her, she’d thought. She’d fashioned this business, created a family more than a team.
But sometimes your past needed to be faced, acknowledged but never forgotten.
Oh boy, Barrie! The title of your story really says it: simple recognition, but also a verdict. That final line refuses to tell you what she decides, which is exactly right, as the story was never about the job. Nicely done!
Thank you so much, Caro. Such generous encouragement, much needed and greatly appreciated 🙏
Good one, Caro!
Thank you, Keno!
100-word challenge--Prompt: "Unforgiven"
Title: Forgive and Forget
The forgiven walk proudly among the unforgiven who know their secret. The unforgiven outnumber the forgiven, but that is an illusion, for the unforgiven know the secret of the forgiven and, thus, also outnumber the forgiven in other ways. What crime is it about which the unforgiven know, which keeps them from joining the ranks of the forgiven? What could be so terrible and horrific?
The secret the unforgiven know is that the forgiven don't think their secret is so terrible or horrific. The forgiven never do. And that is why the forgiven found it so easy to self-forgive themselves.
Very nicely woven
This is a brilliant piece, Gerard! The story’s real cruelty is in where it places us (the reader). By the end, we’ve been enrolled in the unforgiven without being asked! Darn!
It's what goes unsaid that is often the problem. Thanks for swelling my head. You had me at "brilliant."
Bad Habit (100 words)
He looked solemnly, pondered. A thousand excuses rushed to his mind. A million ways to clear his mind of concern.
Not his fault. These things happen. If she would just learn to understand his moods it could all work out. No one is perfect, and he never said he was. She was lucky to have him, he would tell her, and she would believe him. Desperate need clouds a person’s judgment.
He’s done this before. She’d forgiven him before. Over and over. Many times. It becomes like a bad habit that can’t be stopped. But this time, she lay dead.
Darkly unfolded!
Wow! Just devastating! Rad, you made us sit inside that voice for most of the story, then you yank the floor out! The real bad habit was never his violence; it was her forgiveness. My, oh my!
A New Oasis
Harsh realities were rising to the challenge. Each step brought new thoughts, new wisdoms raising both relics and impositions onto a weary soul. Josh paused to wipe the glistening heat from his furrowed brow. He stared off into the distance that lay unforgiven.
“Curious,” his mind spoke, creating the difference between his reality and the developing storm. “There are some things I can control.” His eyes searched vehemently for answers to this new oasis ceasing all movement except for those necessary to bring understanding and possibly a desired outcome.
He resumed typing. “The sound of silence awaited his endless walk.”
Good one, Bill! And you saved it for the last sentence! Discovering that Josh is writing the same kind of story he’s living through is clever. It’s a compact, almost cruel little mirror.
Unforgiven
Worse than the phony smile masking my self-loathing is the pizza and margarita inhaled with my forever bestie. She’s a confident size 6 in a thong bikini; I’m wrapping the hips you gave me in a shawl meant for shoulders.
Why am I obligated to honor your sin? You did this effortlessly. Why didn’t you ask God for better? I never asked to be full-figured.
My hips lie. They call me "bootylicious," but reality is darker. I’m the image of a woman I never met, whose hips bought her crack just to give me hopes, dreams, and hips.
Oof! Well done, Jadu! You disguised the story as self-deprecating humor and then hit us with “whose hips bought her crack.” That reversal of the Shakira line (Shakira! Shakira!) whose “hips don't lie,” is savage. The turn from a celebration of curves to the anger and grief of being trapped with a body nobody asked for makes your story linger.
Thanks Caro,
That was my improvised version of, “so you think you can write?” Wish me luck!
Penance. That one’s really good. Unexpected. Glad I found you.
Thank you! I'm so glad you did!
I didn’t mean it was unexpected that it was good. Not at all!
I meant the outcome of the story was unexpected. A really good story!
You made me smile. 😉 I got it! Thanks again.